


Nary A Whisker Unturned

by Saucery



Series: Animal Farm [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Animals, Cats, Comedy, Crack, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Pets, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-23
Updated: 2010-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:29:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock sulks. John cleans up after him. It's business as usual at 221B Baker Street, except for one minor detail...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nary A Whisker Unturned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neurotictealeaf](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=neurotictealeaf).



* * *

 

When John got back from his date with Sarah—which had gone passably well, all things considered—Sherlock was sulking on the sofa again.

John regarded him. “What, still annoyed about what I said on my blog?”

Sherlock glared at the wall.

“Look, I’m not the one that dragged a sodding corpse in here while I was trying to get off with Sarah, all right? It’s a wonder she even agreed to see me again.”

Sherlock shot him a disgusted glance, as if he doubted Sarah’s judgment.

“Yes, fine,” John muttered. “You’ve got a point. _I’m_ the lunatic that owns a bloody sociopathic cat.”

But Sherlock didn’t answer. When did he ever? His uncanny, all-seeing eyes merely swung to John again, and he flicked his tail. It was Sherlock’s version of a come-on (which was, incidentally, also Sherlock’s version of a peace offering), so John sighed and stroked a hand down Sherlock’s back.

Warm. Bristly. And still too skinny, despite all of John’s efforts to fatten him up. Weren’t animals supposed to eat when they got hungry? Instead of disdaining the whole process altogether, as Sherlock tended to do, preferring instead to root around in people’s non-edible belongings and figure out increasingly complex ways to break into their homes?

“Might as well make a jewel thief out of you,” John said, and had to bear the brunt of another withering stare. Well, obviously. If Sherlock ever joined the criminal element, it would be as a mastermind, not a common burglar. He’d worked out the entire neighborhood’s patterns of movement, and had even beaten Mrs. Turner’s security alarm, last time. Heavens alone knew how he did it.

“Have you eaten, yet?” John asked, but then he noticed the saucer gathering ants in the corner, and sighed again. “Oh, bloody hell. Are you depressed, or just apathetic?”

Sherlock butted John’s hand and purred. His black fur, dulled by self-imposed malnutrition, still managed to gleam in the lamplight.

“Don’t you try to seduce your way out of this one,” said John. “You’re eating. Now.”

But of course, Sherlock didn’t eat—not when John cleaned the saucer and poured out a fresh serving of IAMS, and not when John begged, and not when John pleaded, and not when, an unaccountable amount of minutes later, Sherlock decided that his time would be better spent decoding the large number lock on the cupboard that housed the cat toys, an activity that he apparently found more rewarding than playing with the actual toys.

Right, okay, that had been a waste of energy.

So John marched to the refrigerator—grimaced at the claw marks on its door—and fetched himself a sodding drink.

At least there wasn’t a rat-corpse in the fridge.

This time.  
  


* * *

**fin.** 

**Author's Note:**

> Like my writing? Want updates and sneak previews? Follow me on [Tumblr](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!


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